


Holy Fuck

by LokianaWinchester



Series: Jesus Christ Superstar [5]
Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Because I have many many feelings about Ola Salo, Have Fun!, How unmistakably gay it is, I WROTE SMUT???, I'm so proud, Jesus in a man bun, Judas loves Jesus, Long Hair, M/M, Peter Johansson's Judas being absolutely in love, Porn, So yeah, This contains No Angst, and Jesus loves Judas, and his portrayal of Jesus, because we all need that, compatible with Swedish JCS, featuring:, have some, so much, with limited plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: Jesus and Judas are too gay, for me not to write porn at some point.





	Holy Fuck

The week has not been kind to Jesus, and they all know it. 

They see it in the way his shoulders sag forward ever so slightly, they see it in the way his voice lacks some of his distinct power, that doesn’t require much energy to carry it, yet usually manages to pull the people’s attention towards Jesus like a magnetic force. 

They see it in the way his eyes have dark circles under them and the way his laugh is barely more than a hiccup. 

They see it in the way he gets irritated at the slightest problem and in the way he hasn’t washed his hair in a week. He looks unkempt, tired, unhealthy. He needs a break; they all notice that. 

But there are things they don’t notice, as well. There are things that only Judas knows. 

Jesus gets fidgety; he twiddles with his necklace, he plays with strands of his hair, he bites his fingernails or scratches the nail polish off of them. Judas tries to prevent him from doing that. He takes his hand.

Jesus’ hands are a thing of wonder to Judas. They are neither small nor thin, but between Judas’ own hands, they feel small. 

When they are walking, Judas links their fingers together lightly, allowing for mobility, while still grounding Jesus, which is exactly what he is good at; what he wants to do. He knows that it is working by the way Jesus’ fingers cramped around his own, but then relax a short while later, pressing their palms together softly. Judas loves this casual contact, he loves that Jesus allows it and even more that Jesus loves it just as much. 

When Jesus is preaching, Judas does not grab his hand, many would see it as a sin, and Judas, after all, is doing his best to keep trouble away from Jesus. But Jesus still gets nervous and Judas needs to help him, as desperately as a thirsty man needs water. So he gently lays one hand on the small of Jesus’ back, resting it there, drawing circles with his thumb; he is standing directly next to Jesus, the crowd before them, their friends behind. Feeling Jesus relax against this touch is even more magical to Judas than the smile Jesus shoots him when Judas squeezes his hand lightly. The same smile that stops Judas’ heart and sends it racing at the same time. However seeing the tension leave Jesus’ shoulders even as he gesticulates to the crowd, and feeling Jesus lean into the touch just the slightest bit in acknowledgement and gratitude, fills Judas with pride. He does this to Jesus and nobody else; he can make him unwind and relax, like no-one else.

When they are spending late nights by the fireside, Jesus tends to think about the future. Judas can do nothing to prevent that, but if the thoughts become overwhelming and Jesus’ stare is hollow, Judas can help. He takes Jesus’ hands, both of them, between his own, caressing them with his thumbs, murmuring Jesus’ name until those soulful eyes are trained on him. The same eyes, that sometimes seem like a gateway to so much knowledge, that can go from loving and warm to icy and wrathful within moments. The eyes, that Judas sees when he imagines home.  
And what an experience it is, having Jesus’ attention focused on him and nobody else. Judas can hardly believe how lucky he is, whenever Jesus’ hands start twitching in his hold, as if they wanted to free themselves, whenever Jesus’ eyes turn dark and his lips part ever so slightly. They have been in the exact same situation several times and it is never any less exciting to see Jesus’ tongue dart out and moisten his lips, it is never boring to feel the struggle Jesus is having with himself over freeing his hands. Because Jesus’ instinct is to cup Judas’ face and kiss him.

But what Jesus loves more than taking things into his own hands and kissing Judas is, when Judas keeps his hands in a firm hold, inching closer every second, memorising every last millimetre of Jesus’ appearance. Jesus wants to hold out; Jesus wants to be teased. Judas knows this from experience. Because then, when their lips do meet, it’s exquisite.

Their breaths tangle for several moments before Judas finally closes that last distance, touching his lips to Jesus’. And Jesus cannot take any more. He frantically takes his hands out of Judas’ steady grip to cup his jaw and curl the fingers of his other hand into Judas’ hair, tugging on it. Jesus will open his lips, they are in perfect synch, there is a routine in their movements, but everything still feels so new and exciting. The way Judas’ hands go to Jesus’ hips to pull him close, feeling his warm skin under the thin sheet of clothing Jesus wears. The way, Jesus’ tongue is begging for reciprocation. Judas is sure of the expression he would find if he pulled back then: Jesus would be flushed, his lips still slightly parted, his eyebrows knit together in confusion, his eyes would be wide and his pupils blown; a sight to behold. But Judas never has the self-control, the will, to pull back, because, really, kissing Jesus is all he wants.

But this time it is different. They have not been around a large crowd in days and Jesus has that empty stare to him a lot; Judas is worried. The sun just set beyond the horizon, Jesus is sitting next to Judas, in the silence of their tent, but it is not an uncomfortable silence.

Then Jesus’ hand is on his thigh and Judas’ head snaps to the side to meet Jesus’ gaze. There is something in his eyes, that is unfamiliar to Judas; desperation? As he covers Jesus’ hand with his own, Judas notices the chewed off fingernails, fingertips pink, Jesus is more stressed than he has let on. Jesus turns his hand, links their fingers together, and it becomes even more obvious to Judas, just how on edge Jesus is, because the strength with which Jesus squeezes his fingers, borders on violence. Judas slowly raises his other hand and tucks a strand of hair behind Jesus’ ear. Jesus immediately leans into the touch, so Judas cups his jaw and runs his thumb, softly through the dark beard. Jesus closes his eyes at the motion; his grip on Judas’ fingers loosens ever so slightly. He is breathing heavily, he is holding back. But Judas does not want him to; he knows, Jesus needs something more, he should not hold back.

He catches Jesus by surprise with the kiss. It is not as gentle, as they are used to starting out with, it is messy and needy and Jesus’ desperation becomes even more apparent when he cramps his other hand into Judas’ hair to keep him in place and kiss him senseless. Then again, maybe senseless is the wrong word, Judas feels more sensitive to Jesus’ touches than ever, the way Jesus kisses him like he is starved for him, small moans escaping the back of his throat.

Judas can hear the blood rush in his ears, he is getting dizzy from the intensity, the precision with which Jesus is kissing him. He feels more important than the rest of the world; there is surely nobody that Jesus would kiss like this. Jesus tugs his hand free from where it has been entwined with Judas’ and pulls him closer, placing his palm on the small of Judas’ back, impatiently rucking up his shirt, exposing sensitive skin. Jesus runs his fingernails across the skin directly above the hem of Judas’ trousers and Judas lets out a moan far too loud for what little Jesus is doing, but maybe it is exactly that; the fact that Jesus can evoke such reactions from him, just by lightly scraping his skin with a fingernail is a sign of their compatibility. The sound that Jesus makes, when Judas bites down on his collarbone and licks the sore skin, just affirms this thought. Detaching himself from Jesus for a second, he pulls his shirt over his head, sitting bare-chested and cross-legged before Jesus, taking in the sight. His dark hair is all over the place, fuzzy around his head, his shirt rumpled and halfway buttoned down, chest heaving with heavy breaths and a plea on his lips.

“Judas,” the coarse note in his voice, makes Judas shiver, sends his self-control dwindling and his heartbeat echo in his ears as he leans forward and meets Jesus halfway in another desperate kiss. Judas’ lips tingle from the scrape of Jesus’ teeth. They shuffle, until Jesus is sitting on Judas’ lap, his legs wrapped around Judas’ hips and arms slung around Judas’ shoulders and neck, pressing him close, so close. Judas feels the cool fabric of Jesus’ shirt against his chest, feels the warmth radiating from under it and decides it has to go. Jesus protests, when he pulls back, putting on his best pout, which quickly turns back into the face of desire personified, when Judas unbuttons his shirt all the way, pushing it off his shoulders, down his arms, touching as much skin as possible in the process. Once they are both naked from the waist up, they hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of each other, before Jesus leans in and goes to work on Judas’ neck. Tilting his head back slightly to give him better access, Judas lets out a deep groan as pleasure shoots through him. His hands move upwards from where they gripped Jesus’ hips, skimming over the soft skin of his belly, scattered lightly with hair. Jesus moans against his neck, sending the sensitive skin tingling with the vibration of it. Judas tips him backwards, so he finds himself propped up over Jesus, sitting between those gloriously long legs. Slowly he lowers himself to trail kisses across Jesus’ chest. If possible Jesus’ breathing has increased still; Judas can feel the rapid movements of his chest and his racing heartbeat under his lips.

He tastes the salty tang of Jesus’ sweat and the dust of the roads they travelled. He tastes Jesus. Judas takes his time, with each nipple, sucking gently, teasing it with his teeth, kissing the surrounding skin. He feels Jesus’ dick twitch against his stomach, through the tight leather that is so confining. Judas knows; he feels the same.

Under him, Jesus is coming apart, small moans, choked cries of pleasure as Judas starts kissing his way further down, licking the skin below his navel at the waistband of his trousers, blowing on it. Judas knows what he is doing; he knows, what makes Jesus go wild with pleasure. After teasing him for so long, Jesus must be aching to be touched, finally, in the right places, but Judas is not done yet. In one swift motion, he is face to face with Jesus, who opens his eyes just in time to see Judas grin as he leans down to kiss him again, open mouthed, filthy, messy, but absolutely perfectly. Slowly, very slowly he starts rocking his hips into Jesus’ revelling in the twitches of pleasure, that he receives in return. Jesus is trying so hard to hold himself back but it is becoming increasingly difficult, even for Judas. His lips never leaving Jesus’, he reaches between them and unfastens the button on Jesus’ trousers, slowly pulling down the zipper. Judas feels Jesus pull back, hears a sharp intake of breath as he lifts his hips to help Judas take off the tight leather trousers. Jesus, like so often, wears no underwear, his dick springs free and Jesus’ eyes roll back into his skull as Judas sucks at the base of his neck with bruising force while he returns to thrusting his leather-clad crotch ever so slightly against Jesus’ erection.

Judas expected many reactions to this, including Jesus yanking his head up into a bruising kiss and frantic hands trying to get rid of the only piece of clothing between them, but he did not expect Jesus to flip him over onto his back with an amazing show of strength, then climbing off him, to get rid of Judas’ trousers.

A choked yelp slips from Judas’ lips, which quickly turns into an elated chuckle. But the laughter is dying just as quickly when he sees the look on Jesus’ face; lust and desire are darkening his eyes as he lets them wander across Judas’ bare body. Judas swallows, but his throat is suddenly dry, he watches as Jesus turns away to reach into the duffle bag by the entrance of the tent, procuring a small bottle of lube and a hairband. Judas feels his own heartbeat accelerating at the sight of Jesus stretching, reaching behind his head, to pull all his hair together a messy bun. It becomes apparent at once, how much of Jesus’ face is usually hidden behind the long, dark hair; Jesus is beautiful one way or the other, but only Judas gets to see him like this, naked, flushed, kiss-swollen lips and dark eyes in the face that is rounder than it usually appears to be. And then Jesus moves towards him, settling between his thighs, squeezing some lube out of the bottle onto his fingers, setting it aside.

When Jesus’ slender fingers wrap around the base of Judas’ dick, and a second later, the wet warmth of Jesus’ mouth surrounds him, Judas nearly comes right on the spot. But he manages to control his arousal and forces himself to breathe steadily. Jesus knows him; knows him too well, because Judas is coming dangerously close to release and they have not even really started yet. Jesus is twisting his tongue in ways Judas did not think possible, until he experienced them, surprised by how easily it seems. Jesus is putting all his passion into giving Judas pleasure and it shows.

Judas tries not to move, he does not want to hurt Jesus, but then Jesus sucks the tip of his cock, circling it with his tongue once, before he pulls off for a second to catch his breath. He looks absolutely delicious, spit slicked lips glistening in the low light of the tent, but Judas does not get much time to admire him, because not two seconds later, Jesus is back between his legs, swallowing him down and this time Judas cannot hold back; he thrusts up into Jesus’ throat abruptly, expecting him to gag, ready to apologise, but Jesus only moans in response, a low sound originating deep in his chest, and Judas gasps at the sensation it evokes.

Then he feels Jesus’ lubed up fingers against his entrance, circling it, before one digit pushes in, probing him, testing for his reaction. Judas moans in affirmation.

“Please. Please, Jesus,” is all he manages to utter; they have never done it like this. It has always been Judas in the role Jesus is now assuming, but it feels right; it feels like this is the thing that Jesus needs, the thing, that can centre him again, Jesus needs this, and so does Judas.

Pushing his index finger in slowly, so slowly, retracting it again, fucking into Judas at an accelerating pace, while still working his dick attentively with his lips, tongue, a hint of teeth, that beard, that beautiful beard adding extra sensations every now and then, when Jesus tilts his head just right; it would be enough to send Judas over the edge in a second but he holds on, still. When Jesus adds the second finger, Judas hisses in surprise, it does not hurt, not really, but for a moment he clenches around the fingers, making Jesus pop his lips off of his dick, leaving it exposed to the cooler air. Jesus looks at him with a concerned expression.

“This ok?” he asks, his voice scratchy, a sheepish grin on his lips and Judas remembers again, why he loves this man. He is considerate, always, he cares so unbelievably much, he likes giving pleasure but has to be taught to be on the receiving end of it; and he also loves Judas, just as he is loved by him.

“Yes, yeah, Jesus, please,” Judas wants to tell him how good he is doing, how much he loves everything Jesus is doing to him and how he should please just hurry up, but the words do not form on his lips. Jesus looks satisfied though. Judas is relaxing; Jesus starts moving again, pumping Judas’ dick with his other hand all while keeping eye contact with Judas, looking as if he is the most mesmerising thing he has ever seen.

Jesus adds the third finger at exactly the right moment, when Judas is relaxed enough, loose enough, all while Jesus never once stops stroking his erection, keeping pleasure at the maximum without letting Judas get close enough. The pleasure building in his groin is nearly unbearable; tears begin building in the corners of Judas’ eyes, it feels so, so good and he has no control over the situation, because he gave it to Jesus. Of course the latter notices. Of course he leans in close, presses a single kiss on Judas’ slightly parted lips and murmurs to him, quietly, soothingly.

“Shh, Judas. Soon, okay? I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

And Judas believes him with every fibre of his being. 

Jesus flexes his fingers one more time, stretching Judas open, before he pulls out, a satisfied smile on his lips, as he wipes his fingers on his discarded shirt.  
As he reaches for the lube again, he catches Judas’ gaze, holding it steadily.

“Ready?”

Never has a question been easier to answer than this one. Judas swallows.

“Yeah,” it comes out weak, so he continues. “Yeah, please, I need you in me now, please.” He almost sobs, begging is not something he is used to, but Jesus’ reaction makes it all worth it. His eyes widen just a bit and his breath visibly catches in his throat, he tilts his head to the left, like he does when he is listening to a story, wanting to hear more. His dick is twitching and he nearly pours the lube onto the floor, but it lands on his fingertips. This makes Jesus tear his eyes away from Judas’ face, to look down on his hand and methodically spreading the lube on his own erection. Judas is shivering in anticipation, he has never known just how much he wanted this, wanted to get fucked by Jesus; never would he have thought he would one day beg for Jesus to fuck him. But here he is; Jesus between his legs, his dick leaking precome onto his abdomen and he is absolutely panting because he is ready, he cannot wait another minute, to be filled up by Jesus. 

He closes his eyes; the thought alone nearly gets him over the edge, but he needs to focus; he has been close so often before in the span of just minutes, and now he is mere moments away from feeling Jesus in him, making true on his promise to make him feel good, so good. He can do this, he can hold out.

Judas slows his breathing, even though his heart keeps on hammering wildly. Then he feels Jesus cupping his cheek and opens his eyes. That beautiful face, inches from his own, moving closer until Jesus’ lips are once again pressed against his own, too shy almost, until Judas opens his lips and licks his way into Jesus’ mouth. Jesus pulls back after a moment.

“I love you.” The confession, although not uttered for the first time, takes Judas by surprise. He does not manage an answer, before he feels Jesus lining himself up, ready to push in, looking at him expectantly waiting for permission, and with one jerked nod, Judas gives it.

Jesus goes painfully slowly. Centimetre after centimetre, until he is all inside Judas; he feels a stretch, sure, but it is the good kind. He feels only the barest twinge, because most of his brain’s capacity to think is used up by how full he is and how right that feels.

“Still okay?”, Jesus asks him. Judas sees how much he is holding back, trying to make this good for him. He cannot believe how Jesus cares so much about him, worries so much. But he does, and that is all that matters, really.

And for the second time that night he starts begging.

“Yes, yes so good, please –” Jesus looks at him expectantly, almost fascinated and Judas finds he loves the undivided attention he is receiving. But he needs Jesus to move, not to take care of him, gently, but to fuck him into the thin mattress with all the power, Judas knew, Jesus’ body was holding. “– move.” It was less a spoken word than a hiss followed by an obscene moan, when Jesus obeyed a second later, finally pulling out, and thrusting back in. Jesus’ grip on his hips was almost punishingly tight, as he thrust his hips at an accelerating pace. But his hands slip on the sweat slick skin, Jesus repositions them, changing the angle of his thrusts ever so slightly and Judas is overrun with the most intense wave of pleasure he has ever experienced. He has heard stories about this; how it supposedly overshadow all other pleasure he has ever felt. The stories are right. His eyes roll back into his skull, and a desperate wail leaves his lips. Jesus keeps hitting that spot with each thrust and Judas is barely coherent after only a few moments; panting in loud, rhythmical moans, Judas manages to open his eyes again, looking at the sight, that is Jesus. He is concentrated on him, some strands of hair have escaped his hairband and are curling around his shoulders, his lips are parted, as he puffs out breath after heavy breath, the muscles in his abdomen are working, his fingers white-knuckled on Judas’ hips. He knows there will be bruises in the morning, but right now he does not care. Jesus is looking at him with marvel in his eyes again, as if Judas looked just as mesmerising. Experimentally, Judas clenches around Jesus’ dick as he pulls back to deliver the next thrust with the same kind of precision as the previous dozens. 

The reaction is beautiful. Jesus’ head arches back, exposing his neck; he lets out the filthiest moan, which also happens to be the hottest thing Judas has ever heard. He repeats it, clenches around Jesus, starting to thrust his hips up to meet his movements. Jesus leans over him, trapping Judas’ dick between their abdomens, providing beautiful friction. Judas lifts his head to capture Jesus’ lips in a hastened kiss, breathy and cut off by moans, as they move together, feeling the pleasure build and build. Judas knows, he will not last much longer, now that Jesus is close, too. He knows he is; it shows in the way his thrusts become erratic and his throaty moans become louder. Judas looks up at Jesus’ face and wonders, for a brief second how he could be so lucky, to have him in this way. He buries his fingers in Jesus’ hair and pulls him into another kiss, tugging at his hair, eliciting a moan from the back of Jesus’ throat and earning an especially powerful thrust against his prostate, which sends him racing towards the edge. Judas untangles one hand from Jesus’ hair, bringing it between them and starts stroking his dick in rhythm with the frantic movements of Jesus’ hips. He clenches tightly around Jesus, over and over, Jesus burying his face in the crook of his neck, breathing hotly against the sensitive skin, and then Jesus’ hips stutter to a halt; half-movements of his hips pressing his dick into Judas, so, so deeply. Judas feels the hot spurts of come, Jesus buried in him to the hilt, before he hears and feels Jesus’ scream, muffled against his neck, and those twinned sensations send him over the edge as well, clenching around Jesus a last time, exploding all over his hand and up against Jesus’ belly with a throaty scream, he tries to choke, so as not to alert anybody of their activity, but he fails miserably. 

Panting heavily they lie there for a few moments, Jesus on top of Judas, his head still pressed against the side of Judas’ neck. One of his hands come up to turn Judas’ face towards his own, capturing his lips in a languid kiss, that they both sink into, letting the familiar feeling envelop them.

When they break apart, Jesus pulls out, leaving a trail of come on Judas’ thigh. Judas is vaguely aware that he reaches for his already soiled shirt, to wipe them both off, but his thoughts have started to drift away. Jesus cuddles into his side, after pulling the blanket over them both.

“I love you, too,” is the first thing Judas utters after he sorts through his mind. He did not answer Jesus then, so now he does. Shifting slightly, he lifts his head to rest on Jesus’ chest, their legs intertwining, resting his hand lightly on Jesus’ soft belly; this is his place of peace. This is his home.

Jesus slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closely to him and whispers into Judas’ hair, that is splayed over his whole upper body.

“I know, darling. You showed me.” 

-

Jesus is better. Life is still not kind to him, and neither are people. He still gets stressed and angry, but he knows Judas is there for him.

What Jesus needs is a way for him to let out all the feelings he has to keep bottled up in his role as the Messiah. What Jesus needs is release from the obligations and expectations that the people bestow on him. What Jesus also needs is Judas.

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out with me on [tumblr](https://lokianawinchester.tumblr.com/) or look at my Jesus Christ Superstar posts on [my side blog](https://this-broken-man.tumblr.com/). Feel free to send me prompts!


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